Once Upon A Psychologist
by SunGold16
Summary: Prince Charming needs Prozac, Cinderella's OCD, the Seven Dwarfs have something to confess, the Big Bad Wolf just wants to express himself...and Dr. Daniel Higgenbotham is stuck counseling them...for the Brother's Grimm Fairy Tale Mafia.
1. The Brother's Grimm Fairytale Mafia

DISCLAIMER: The only things I don't own here are a couple of the characters.  
  
Author's Note: Hey, I'm back! Please remember to REVIEW! Have fun!  
  
~~Chapter One~~  
  
I am a very rational man. I like reason and logic to create order and stability in my life. I am not overly emotional. I much prefer a peaceful life to a wild and daring existence. I am a quiet middle-aged man, 53, balding, with a pepper-and-salt beard and mustache, bifocals, and a slight pudginess about the middle.  
  
It has long been my greatest ambition to save up enough money to buy a small cottage in Bermuda and spend my mornings writing poetry about the sunrise. I own a small, private, counseling office in an office in New York City, where I am a psychotherapist. It is around this practice that my story revolves.  
  
It was a balmy Tuesday morning that this all began. I was walking along 82nd street, savoring the smell of coffee and bagels emitting from a small white paper bag I carried in my left hand, and pleasantly humming a tune while considering that I needed to clean out my rain gutters when I went home that evening.  
  
I don't know what it is about Tuesdays, but those are the days when everything bad seems to happen. I suppose Mondays are the return to routine. Wednesdays provide comfort in that during the middle of the week you are completely immersed in your work. Thursdays you tidy things up and look forward to Friday, which marks the end of the workweek. And Saturday is to relax before Sunday church and cleaning. It is Tuesdays that are so void of significance that they attract troubles like a Starbucks draws bleary eyed business clerks. Suffice to say, it was a Tuesday. And Tuesdays always mean trouble.  
  
My easy mood was quickly ended upon arrival at my secretary's desk. Now let me say that none of this was my secretary's fault. She is the picture of order. The mother of efficiency. Ms. Washington is a cheery, empathetic woman in her late fifties, pleasantly plump, with silver streaked hair and reading glasses which she wears on small chains around her neck. The chains vary from day to day according to her apparel and mood. She is never without a smile, and frequently takes her lunch breaks in her office with a brown bag lunch of the same consistency as those I used to bring to school in my boyhood days. The poor woman's name, I am sad to say, is Martha. Martha Washington. She enjoys the oddity of the name however, claiming that she is proud to be linked with such a courageous, kindhearted woman.  
  
But back to the subject at hand. I approached my Martha and she handed me my daily schedule. I thanked her for her kindness and complimented her on her lovely new yellow pantsuit with matching gold spectacle chain. Before I could escape she lightly touched my arm to hold me back.  
  
"Daniel?"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Before you go in...there are a couple of men in your office who wish to speak to you. They didn't seem too happy. I thought you might want to know."  
  
"Thank you Martha," I said and strolled through my office door to greet the two gentlemen.  
  
I soon became aware of a prickling sensation at the back of my neck. My hairs were standing up. The two "gentlemen" were African-American, dressed in suits of absolute black, with mirrored sunglasses over their eyes and baldheads.  
  
"Good morning gentlemen," I said, trying to recover from the initial shock of these two characters.  
  
"Good morning Mr. Higginbotham."  
  
"What can I do for you two fellows?" I sat my briefcase down on top of my desk and seated myself in a leather, revolving office chair, placing the desk between myself and these two burly men.  
  
"We understand that you operate this counseling service."  
  
"I have for 22 years now," I replied with pride.  
  
"We have a request. You see, our 'boss' has some 'people' that need psychological help, and we feel that you could be of assistance."  
  
"Who is your 'boss'?"  
  
"All you need to know is that he is 'the boss'. We can offer you great compensation for your services."  
  
I thought for a moment. I wanted to politely decline without angering these two men whom appeared to each have played linebacker for Notre Dame. "I'm afraid that my schedule is rather full at the moment gentlemen. I'm sorry, but I cannot be of service at this time. My I recommend the names of a few other therapists I know for your convenience?"  
  
"No sir, I'm afraid we specifically wanted you."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
"Your case record. You have helped such people as Viggo Mortenson, Rob Reiner, and Robin McKinley."  
  
"Well, Viggo thought he was a Middle Earth King and kept carrying around a sword. Rob was completely stressed from making both 'The Princess Bride' and 'Spinal Tap', and Robin couldn't shake the feeling that she could talk to animals. Very unusual cases."  
  
"Yes, but the nature of our clients is...unusual. We are prepared to offer you one million dollars in cash and a free potted plant if you help us. If you refuse...well...you'll be sleeping with the fishes." The mirrored sunglasses flashed and they sat quite still.  
  
I thought about it for a moment. There WAS a free potted plant involved. "What kind of characters are these?"  
  
"Oh just that Mr. Higgenbotham...characters," said the men, as they rose from their chairs. "You're first client will be here tomorrow morning." 


	2. Prince Charming

DISCLAIMER: Well, you know the drill.  
  
Author's Note: Ahem! Review!  
  
~~Chapter Two~~  
  
Wednesday morning I arrived at my office a little later than usual. I think I was trying to postpone my meeting with my new client as much as humanly possible. I quickly retrieved my schedule from Martha and retreated to the safety of my chenille-pillowed, leather-smelling, orderly office.  
  
I take great pride in my office. Everything in there is neat as a pin. Every evening I take great care to replace my pens and labels in their correct positions so that when I return to them the next morning they await me with the professional aura of organization. I laid my briefcase upon my desk and had just begun to sort through my papers when my intercom buzzed.  
  
"Mr. Higgenbotham?" her voice sounded...giggly.  
  
"Yes, Martha?"  
  
"Your...client...is here." Another giggle.  
  
"Well show him in."  
  
"Yes, Mr. Higgenbotham." Now she was positively dying with tittering. There was a few moment's pause as she jumped up to escort my client the five feet to my office door, and as she opened the door, I noticed a crimson blush staining her cheeks. She quickly shut the door behind the client.  
  
I was so puzzled about her behavior that at first I failed to notice my new patient. But when I laid eyes on him, I nearly backed through a window. It was a young man, about six feet tall, appearing to be about twenty years of age. And he was the most handsome person I had seen in my entire life. He had wavy, chestnut-brown hair and emerald green eyes. His skin was smoothed to perfection. Not a single freckle blemished his flawless face. His body was lean, but strong. He possessed a slight dimple in his left cheek, which, judging from Martha's behavior would simply take a woman's breath away. However, he wore the strangest attire, silver armor so shiny it seemed to have been made of chrome, a crimson red cloak, and a jewel encrusted sword rested at his side...atop a white horse. But strangest of all, he was not smiling.  
  
I stood, flat against the wall, blinking for a few moments as my mouth opened and closed a few times, trying to produce words. At long last I mastered a simple, "Hi."  
  
"Hello," the young man said in a mournful tone.  
  
I stepped forward slightly to reach up and shake his hand and squeaked, "I'm Dr. Daniel Higgenbotham. You are?"  
  
He did not take my hand but bowed deeply, making me wonder how he kept hi seat, "Prince Charming of Grimm at your service."  
  
I lowered my hand and pretended to brush some lint off my jacket to hide my gesture. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that? What was your name again?"  
  
"Charming, Prince Charming," he repeated.  
  
If there was ever a moment to be nonplused, this was it. I stood there dumb for a moment and tried to form rational sentences from my incoherent thoughts. At last the professional side of my brain took over.  
  
"Well, your highness, do you have your file?"  
  
"Yes," he handed me a manila envelope.  
  
"You do understand that you are entitled to a fifty minute hour, and that your fee will be paid in full by your superiors?" I asked automatically, still looking up at him.  
  
"Yes, I do."  
  
"All right then, let's get started. You may take a seat anywhere. There is a sofa available if you choose to lay down. Or if you are more comfortable up there..."  
  
"Thank you," the Prince dismounted and asked, "Where may I tie Samson up?"  
  
As my barn resembled nothing of a stable I was not quite sure how to answer this question but decided to jump in head first, "Um, I think that floor lamp will do just fine."  
  
The Prince knotted his horse's reigns around the slim floor lamp and crossed the room to collapse on the sofa, his armor clanking as he walked. I opened the manila envelope and began to examine its contents. Sure enough, there was his photo, nothing short of a glamour shot, revealing his pearly white teeth. And his name WAS listed as: Prince Charming. His age: 21. He was six foot tall, weighing 140 lbs, with brown hair and green eyes. His case file listed is issue as depression.  
  
"Well, Mr. Prince, your records describe you as, "Debonair, suave, intelligent, witty, romantic, gentile, chivalrous, and gallant. What have you to say for that?"  
  
He looked gloomy; "It's true. Did you know I can also boil water faster than any man alive? And that I have no trouble distinguishing between black and navy blue?"  
  
"Your chart also describes you as a victim of chronic depression."  
  
"Yes, I would have to agree with that."  
  
"Can you tell me why you agree?"  
  
"Because I feel so stressed out lately. Everyone has these demands. I've fought 38 dragons in the past month, and rescued 43 princesses, all with no zits or perspiration. I just can't deal with this anymore!" the Prince burst into sobs and covered his face with a pillow.  
  
"Why can't you sweat?" I asked with curiosity.  
  
"Because the ladies don't like it. And I have to be perfect."  
  
"No one has to be perfect..."  
  
"I do! I'm Prince Charming!" he cried as his horse neighed and stamped his feet on my delicate Persian rug. I winced.  
  
"Let's work with the dragon issue first. How many did you say?"  
  
"Thirty eight, in the last month."  
  
"Ah, yes, that is quite a few."  
  
"And I'm worn out. I have to rub five facial cremes on my face every night before bed so I don't suffer any lasting damage from the heat!"  
  
Oh boy. "Why do you feel you must fight these dragons?"  
  
"They tell me too."  
  
"Who does?"  
  
"The Brothers' Grim. It's my job. They're the ones who sent me to you after the 'incident' last week."  
  
"The 'incident'?" So, it was the Brothers' Grimm behind this whole thing.  
  
"I had a nervous breakdown," said the Prince quietly, as though mortified by the very thought.  
  
"Would you like to tell me about it?" I asked, scribbling on my legal pad.  
  
"I don't think you want to hear."  
  
"Of course I want to hear," I said genially, "I'm your doctor!"  
  
"It involves a hedgehog and a gallon of Hawaiian Punch."  
  
"Maybe it would be best for you to meditate on that by yourself," I said quickly and looked down. I glanced at my watch, 9:00. Still twenty minutes left. This had to be the longest fifty-minute-hour of my life.  
  
I sat very quietly for a moment, trying to think of what to say. I watched as the Prince twiddled his thumbs and his stallion began chewing on my copy of, "A Horse's Tail". I guess he had no liking for Mr. Mark Twain.  
  
"Well," I said, finally, "What about the ladies Mr. Prince? How go things in that department?"  
  
Again, he began to sob into my chenille pillows. "Horriable! As soon as I rescue one from her tower, another needs to be kissed! It's a nightmare! I can't take it anymore! And they all want to marry me! Every last one of them begs me to stay and marry her! I'm only one man!"  
  
How awful, I thought privately in a sarcastic tone. There wasn't a man in this world that wouldn't KILL for that kind of feminine attention. Still, I played along, "And I suppose that rescuing princesses is part of your job description as well?"  
  
"Sadly, yes."  
  
"Out of curiosity, do you get to kiss them after you've saved them from the fiery pits of doom?"  
  
"Oh yes, it's one of the perks." Then he lowered his voice, "I'm actually quite good."  
  
"I'll take your word for it," 9:15. Finally.  
  
"Well, I have a little homework assignment for you. I want you to take the week off. Don't fight any dragons, don't rescue any princesses. The only thing I want you to do is chill and scope out women."  
  
"Scope out women?" the Prince asked in an unsure tone.  
  
"Yes, I want you to find a woman you like, and woo her. Wine and dine, send flowers, the whole she-bang. Just one though. I don't want you over taxing yourself."  
  
"Ok." He got up from the sofa and untied his stallion. He mounted and as he turned his noble, paperback chewing steed towards the door, called, "Thanks, Doc!" and galloped off down the hall to the elevators.  
  
Martha was still blushing slightly when I approached her desk. "Is it going to be like this from now on?"  
  
"I hope not," she said, "Although he did have a very tight butt." 


	3. Scrabble and Posioned Apples

DISCLAIMER: Same as always.  
  
Author's Note: He he! Time for the Evil Queen! Have fun guys! Please review!  
  
~~Chapter Three~~  
  
As soon as Prince Charming had departed, he and his horse causing quite a stir in the mirrored elevators, I returned to my office so as to prepare myself for my next client. He/she was due to arrive at ten. I flipped through Mr. Prince's files. Gee, he was right, the man WAS super human. He spoke twelve different languages, had written several award-winning operas, didn't perspire, paid all his bills before deadline...Hell, the laws of physics didn't even apply to him.  
  
I sighed and felt very inadequate. How do you compete with a guy who can cook thirty-minute brownies in twenty minutes? All single males were now officially screwed.  
  
BUZZ!! "Mr. Higgenbotham?"  
  
I grunted into the box, "Yes Martha?"  
  
"She's here."  
  
"Well show her in!"  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
I collected myself during the brief interlude, and was ready to face anyone or anything that walked through that door. Like Hell.  
  
The little old woman who hobbled inward, knocking aside a porcelain vase of mine (which I happened to be very fond of) with her cane, destroyed all self-assurance I possessed as she glared at me with her small, beady, black eyes.  
  
"Damn communists," I heard her grumble in greeting. Not quite sure how to respond to that comment I simply ignored it and continued with my formulaic salutation.  
  
"Good morning. How are you today?" I prompted.  
  
"Damn communistic court systems, giving me this sentence," she growled and sat on the plush armchair.  
  
"Communist?" I queried, "There aren't too many communist in New York City ma'am. You know, democracy and all."  
  
"Well, McCarthy didn't do his job well enough! This judicial system is full of the lunatics!" Her cane waved dangerously near another vase. Ever so discreetly I nudged it away from her.  
  
"And what sentence did you receive ma'am?"  
  
Here she grew so quiet that I had to ask her to repeat herself. "What was that again?"  
  
"Anger management therapy," she uttered little louder than a whisper. Her eyes looked murderous, as though she wanted nothing more than to wring a few necks. "AND ALL I DID WAS CAST A FEW CURSES!! NOW THEY TELL ME I NEED ANGER MANAGEMENT THERAPY!!!"  
  
My toupee quivered from the assault of her voice and I quickly reached out to wrench her file away from her. Sure enough, "Witch, Evil" was here on court summons for anger management therapy. I dared a glance at the clock. 10:07. It was going to be a long fifty-minute hour.  
  
"Well Ms. Witch, you file lists quite a few offenses here, it's no wonder you were brought to court. Stabbing people with spindles, handing out poisoned apples, imprisoning young women in towers for several years...it seems to me that you have personal issues. Do you have anything to add?"  
  
"Every single one of them was justified."  
  
Oh boy.  
  
"Look here sonny, I was just doin' what them Grimms Brothers told me to do! All they want is for you to write up a nice report for the jury and let me go about my business in peace."  
  
I could live with that.  
  
"Well, that's fine then, but you still need your hours. So I'm afraid that you need to sit out the rest of your time with me."  
  
There was a pause while she thought, "You won't make me talk about my childhood?"  
  
"Scout's honor."  
  
"Well, all right then. I don't suppose you play scrabble do you?"  
  
I smiled a little, "As a matter of fact, I keep a few board games handy."  
  
At first I thought it would be easy to beat this old hag of a woman, but soon I discovered that I was sorely mistaken.  
  
"There that's 'myriad'! Twelve points!"  
  
The old crone looked down at her tiles and grinned devilishly, "My turn," she laid the tiles on the board. "Using your 'a' I can spell 'dissonance'. That's thirty points!" she cackled.  
  
I began to sweat. "'Nominee'. Thirteen points."  
  
"'Mugwump'. Forty two!"  
  
"Wait a minute...that's not a word!"  
  
"Sure it is," she stuck her slimy tongue out at me, "A politically neutral person. Often associated with Republican's who deserted their party in 1884 when refusing to support James G. Blaine in the presidential elections." With her wand she conjured a dictionary in midair. "You may ask Mr. Webster if you prefer."  
  
"Now we're tied sonny, but if you don't play something worth more than thirty eight points you're going to lose in about ten seconds!"  
  
"Well, golly gee, look at the time!" I announced quickly, "You're fifty- minute hour is up! Time to be going!" I pulled her up, stuffed the wand into her hand and began pushing her towards the door.  
  
"But we haven't finished the ga...." She cried as I slammed the door.  
  
I let out a sigh of relief. Thank the Lord she was gone. It was now nearly eleven o'clock. I decided to take a LONG lunchbreak. 


	4. Lunch Break and Love Stories

DISCLAIMER: Hardly any of this really belongs to the Brother's Grimm but...oh well.  
  
Author's Note: To Fiyero, in many counseling professions your therapy time is allotted into segments of slightly less than one hour. The "50-minute hour" is a humorous satiric play on words. You will find other writers who have used this phrase. And the "Evil Witch" is not a particular character, rather an archetypal female villain. I felt that as I had just introduced a "perfect man", having an elegant woman play the witch would not add quite the note of humor I wished to convey.  
  
~~Chapter Four~~  
  
Lunch consisted of a ham and cheese sandwich on a croissant with a small bag of potato chips and an iced tea. The deli was crowded, and in no mood to deal with the noise and commotion, I returned to my office to consume my repast.  
  
As I entered the foyer Martha waved merrily to me and invited me to partake of my meal at her desk while she ate her turkey and Swiss sandwich. Not wanting to eat alone, I took a seat and opened my take out box.  
  
"How are your patients doing?" asked Martha around a mouthful of red apple.  
  
I sighed into my iced tea, "It's exasperating! They sent me fairy tale characters! FAIRY TALE characters! And if I don't help these lunatics the Brother's Grimm Mafia is going to sic their hit men on me!"  
  
Martha suppressed a giggle and commented, "I don't know, they seemed rather amusing to me. A gallant Prince Charming..."  
  
"With depression."  
  
"And a little old witch..."  
  
"Who broke a very expensive vase."  
  
"Actually I never liked that particular vase. I'm kind of glad she did."  
  
I popped a chip into my mouth. Chewing on crunchy foods is a good stress reliever. "Martha, the woman is here on court summons for anger management therapy. But of course the Brother's Grimm likes her like this so they don't want me to help her, just give a good report to the judge. And Prince Charming is so perfect it's sickening. If I hear one more of his stupid..."  
  
"Did you know that he reprogrammed my computer in ten minutes?"  
  
I sighed and returned to my sandwich. My eyes examined Martha's workspace. It was clean, but not antiseptic, like my office. I noticed that she had an array of pens, from banks, florists, and other such firms. She had placed a small stuffed puppy dog on the top of her computer, whose desktop's wallpaper featured a blonde child in a red and white stripped bathing suit. There was a clutter of photographs on her desk and on her computer, lots of little children with ice cream stains on their faces, and a middle aged man with a bald head and gray beard.  
  
"Is that your husband?" I asked, pointing to the dignified gentleman.  
  
She smiled slightly in a nostalgic manner, and lifted the picture so that I could see him better, "No, he was my husband. Larry passed away last year from a heart attack."  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry...I didn't know," I said quietly, feeling wretched for not knowing that my own secretary's husband had died.  
  
"It's okay, I miss him, but...well...you have to get on with life don't you?" she set the picture back down on the desk. "What about you? Do you have a wife?"  
  
I shook my head, "No, I never married."  
  
"Why not? If you don't mind my asking."  
  
I sighed, "I wanted to. When I was in college I met the most beautiful girl in one of my psychology classes. She was glorious. Tall, with long ebony hair and perfect skin, and a smile that just made me melt inside."  
  
Martha sighed happily.  
  
"She was intelligent and oh so witty. We both loved Van Gogh and mocha lattes, we were so similar, and yet, at the same time she was so lighthearted and free spirited that it began to pull me out of my recluse attitude. I spoke to her many times in class and we would meet at libraries to write our research papers, but I never had the courage to ask her on a date." Here the nostalgia vanished, "Then one day she told me that she was engaged to be married and that she was transferring to another school to be close to her fiancé." I shook my head, "I hate myself for never telling her that I loved her. I had so many opportunities, but I let her slip away. I should have told her the day she announced her engagement, should have stood outside her door and refused to leave until she let me tell her how much I adored her...but I didn't. I just let her walk away. There hasn't been anyone else since her."  
  
Martha sat silent with her mouth slightly open, her golden chained eyeglasses dangling from her neck. The moment of silence seemed to stretch into an eternity, until it was finally broken by a buzzer on her desk.  
  
"You'd better go to your office Mr. Higgenbotham, I believe your next patient is here.'  
  
"Yes," I agreed and collected my empty take out box and rose from the desk.  
  
"You know, Daniel," Martha said quietly, "It's not too late. Just because you missed out on love once doesn't mean you have to live in misery forever. You have so much to give. Don't waste your life on regret."  
  
I caught her gaze, "Thank you," and with one last look at her lovely cluttered desk, returned to my office. 


	5. Amphibian Associations

DISCLAIMER: Same old, same old.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you once again to all of my beautiful, intelligent, witty, suave, eloquent, dashing, and kind reviewers. Please keep it up!  
  
~~Chapter Five~~  
  
I went to my cappuccino brewer to make myself a quick cup for energy. The warm hiss of the apparatus was almost as soothing as the foamy liquid itself. The bittersweet taste of the coffee reassured me. After all, I could hardly imagine that the situation could get any worse than a scrabble- playing, McCarthy-loving, witch who broke my best vase.  
  
As my door opened, I turned and spat out my cappuccino. Apparently it could. In my doorway stood not one, but TWO fairy tale characters. A short, squatty, young man in princely garb (however, not near as fine as Prince Charming's), who's skin was an odd, light green hue, and was covered in warts. The appearance of the young lady who stood next to him nearly screamed, "PRINCESS!" She had waist-length blonde hair, the color of gold, which fell in ringlets the size of goblets. Her eyes were sapphire blue and her skin as fine and flawless as porcelain. She wore a tall, pointy hat with scarf tassels dangling from it and was covered from head to foot, in pink. Pink pointed hat, pink scarves, pink dress, and get this...pink pearls. I could not see her shoes for the fluffy pink skirts, but had I been able to I would have no doubt that they would be rosy-colored. She also stood a good foot taller than her toad-like counterpart, who was currently squatted on the floor.  
  
The pink princess stood there examining her cuticles while the gentleman with the warts croaked, "Hello."  
  
"Hello," I choked, "I am Dr. Higgenbotham, and you are?" I leaned forward to take the manila folder from his slightly webbed hands.  
  
"Hi Dr. Higglebopper, I'm Princess Daisy," she giggled as she held out a perfectly manicured hand and then said is a slightly less enthusiastic tone, "and this is my husband, Prince Frederick Alfred Bartholomew."  
  
"I prefer Fred," the little green man said quietly.  
  
Having learned much from my previous clients that day, I chose simply not to reply. Instead I examined the manila folder. "You are here for marriage counseling I see?"  
  
Princess Daisy gave a very theatrical sigh, "Yes, it's been terrible! I've been whining and complaining to the Brother's Grimm for months now to change our fairy tale so I can marry..." here she giggled a bit, "Prince Charming. But they dragged their feet and dragged their feet...I had to threaten to hire a divorce attorney before they would do anything about it!" Her lower lip stuck out and she pouted prettily.  
  
I gestured for them to take seats on the sofa and resumed my questioning, "Well Fred," I said to the poor man married to such a prima donna, "How do you feel about all of this?"  
  
"He's like, so...I don't know...sullen!" the princess answered.  
  
"That's lovely miss, but I need to hear your husband's point of view."  
  
"I like flies," the young man said quietly, looking down at the carpet.  
  
I blinked, considered the statement, coughed a little, and loosened my tie. I could feel a migraine coming on.  
  
"Are there any particular conflicts of interest in your union?"  
  
"Huh?" Daisy asked, looking bewildered.  
  
"Things you and your husband don't agree on," I explained.  
  
"He likes flies."  
  
Where was that Excedrin when you needed it? "So I understand. Anything else?"  
  
"Aside from the fact that we both possess a mutual appreciation for kareoke bars and Chinese Checkers, we differ exceedingly in most areas of academic interest, and aesthetic fields, particularly on the status quo of amphibian themed interior design." The princess and I both stared at the wart-covered man for a few moments as he proceeded to ignore us and use his extensive, sticky tongue to trace a lily-pad pattern on my Chippendale coffee table. He continued, "That, and the fact that I like to eat flies."  
  
The princess waved her hand in a prissy manner, "What he said."  
  
I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. Potted plant, potted plant, just remember the potted plant. "Miss Daisy, I take it that you do not care for your husband's preference for an amphibian lifestyle?"  
  
She screwed up her face, "No! It smells when he leaves lily-pads around the castle, and I simply can't kiss a person who likes to eat flies! I mean, could you?"  
  
"That's the complete element doc. Daisy can't accept that I am what I am. She used to kiss me, but no! Not now! Just because I like flies!"  
  
"Yes, I believe we have established that you like flies Fred!" I noticed that my voice was raised slightly and made an effort to lower it.  
  
Daisy, however, was just getting started, "What do you mean I won't kiss you? I KISSED YOUR SLIMY FROG LIPS TO FREE YOU FROM THAT BLASTED CURSE!!!!!!! WHAT MORE DO YOU WANT!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?"  
  
"Yeah, great, one time. So now I have to put up with being human without the benefits?! Where's the love huh? I need lust! LUST! LUST! LUST! LUST! LUST!" he stood up and began to jump on the sofa.  
  
There was a creak of the door opening and Martha stuck her head in, "Is everything all right?"  
  
The princess answered for me, "My husband is being very rude to Dr. Hillybottom. I'm terribly sorry."  
  
"Hillybottom?" Martha mouthed to me and I shrugged. She retreated behind the door and I wished that I could join her.  
  
I pulled Fred back down onto the sofa and tried to redirect the course of the conversation, "What I am seeing here is a simple loss of romance in your marriage."  
  
"A loss of romance?" the princess looked horrified.  
  
"I'll believe it," the frog prince muttered in disgust.  
  
"I have a few suggestions if you care to hear them. I think they just might help save your marriage." I waited for the OK from the couple, and not receiving any visable or audible sign, simply continued right ahead. "First, make a few compromises. Fred, brush well and use mouthwash before kissing your wife. Daisy, you may want to engage him in some underwater lip locking." Their eyes flickered with interest.  
  
"And by the way, I happen to be in touch with a very skilled interior designer by the name of Kris Kringle. He may be able to incorporate Fred's aquatic desires with Daisy's comfort lifestyle."  
  
"Wow, like, thanks Dr. Hopperbiggle!"  
  
"Astute suggestion! Ingenious!"  
  
The couple turned to each other, "Darling, let us rekindle the embers of our love!" The prince attempted to embrace his wife, but before he could get to close she shoved a Listerene breath mint into his mouth.  
  
The ecstatic couple pranced out my doors and I laid back in my arm chair and laughed hysterically. This day just kept getting better and better. 


	6. Checking In

DISCLAIMER: I probably understand copyright laws better than the majority of the staff of this website...so why am I writing this?  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to everyone who reviewed! Don't stop! Keep it up! I had a little trouble trying to decide which character to bring in next. I hope that this satisfies you, I will try to get someone off the wall next.  
  
~~Chapter Six~~  
  
I popped a few Excedrin into my mouth and swallowed them with a glass of water. The pounding in my head subsided after a few minutes. I kept thinking about the potted plant I was getting after this stupid charade was over. This whole ordeal. How did I get involved with the Brother's Grimm Fairy Tale Mafia? This was insane! All I wanted to do was retire in Bermuda, not spend my life playing scrabble with Snow White's stepmother! Why was I doing this? What direction was my life taking? But the bigger question was...did I want a fern or ivy?  
  
However, this question was answered for me about three seconds later when my door opened and who should walk in but my little Mafia friends. They must have been in good moods because their suit were in a slightly grayer shade of black.  
  
"Dr. Higgenbotham?" one of them said to me. I wasn't quite sure which as they both looked identical.  
  
"Yes? Good afternoon gentlemen." I gestured to a couple of chairs and they took their seats.  
  
"Dr. Higgenbotham, I do hope you are comfortable with ferns, we seem to have run out of ivy in our potted plant collection."  
  
"That's quite all right, ferns will be fine."  
  
"Oh, yes, and the million dollars...do you accept Mastercard?"  
  
"Sorry, only American Express."  
  
"Damn. I guess we'll have to revert to the ol' money in the briefcase trick huh James?"  
  
"Yes, James I suppose we will." They were both named James? Oh well, I had just given marriage counseling to a frog man and a ditzy princess...I could handle anything...even a couple of Mafia hit men in mirrored sunglasses.  
  
"Dr. Higgenbotham, the reason we're here today is to express our pleasure in what you have done for us."  
  
"Yes, you see the Brother's Grimm has been trying to get Prince Charming back on his feet for years. We've tried everything..."  
  
"...Massage therapy, lattes...Prozac..."  
  
"...But none of it worked."  
  
They both turned to each other and smiled. "Now that you have worked with him, his whole outlook has changed."  
  
"He has fallen madly in love with some advertising executive here in Manhattan, and has been organizing a Dragon's Protection Agency (or DPA if you prefer) and a Princesses' Liberation Front (or PLF) to prove his devotion to this woman. It's fabulous!"  
  
"The Frog Prince and his Princess were on the verge of divorce..."  
  
"...now you come in..."  
  
"...and you wouldn't believe the change!"  
  
"They have redecorated their castle with a sort of, Amazon theme..."  
  
"...and are shooting a commercial with Listerene Mouthwash next week!"  
  
"The Evil Witch is still up to her old tricks, which is fine...I mean, how can you have a fairy tale without the villain?"  
  
"Except that each time she captures someone she's willing to set them free if they can beat her at Scrabble." They stopped and stared at me. "We haven't figured that one out yet, but all the same she's doing well."  
  
I rearranged a few of the pens on my desk, "Well, I did the best I could."  
  
One of the gentlemen adjusted his tie, "We have only a few more characters for you. We really do appreciate you help with this Dr. Higgenbotham."  
  
"Of course, gentleman." We all rose from our seats.  
  
"Good day Dr. Higgenbotham."  
  
"Good day." 


	7. The Psychotherapist Meets the CrossDress...

DISCLAIMER: Um...this is ridiculous. Only thing, "Legally Blonde" stuff isn't mine. Neither are the pain killers.  
  
Author's Note: Ok, sorry last chapter was so short. I needed to bring in the Mafia again and just kind of recap everything. This one should be better.  
  
~~Chapter Seven~~  
  
By the time Thursday morning rolled around I was rested and my self-esteem had risen greatly. I had counseled Prince Charming for depression, lost gallantly to an Evil Witch in Scrabble, and saved the Frog Prince's marriage...hell by now I could take on the IRS single-handedly and sabotage the Republican National Convention while I was at it!  
  
These were my thoughts as I strolled into my office and practically sang, "Good morning Martha!"  
  
Today she wore a blue dress with white sand dollar prints on it, and her eyeglass chain consisted of a string of seashells. She looked up at me with a very bemused expression on her face. "Either you've just won the lottery or you've completely snapped and need some Prozac, which is it?"  
  
"Snapped I think," I agreed and began to riffle through the papers she handed me. "By the way, would it be too much trouble if I asked you to send out for some Ibuprofen? Not Tylenol, you could OD on that stuff before it did you a bit of good. And Advil makes me loopy."  
  
She cocked an eyebrow, "Sure you don't want the Advil? I've seen your first patient...it's in your office right now."  
  
"What do you mean...it...?" I asked, stopping my shuffling and focusing on my mollusk-clad secretary.  
  
"Daniel, you'd better just go see for yourself."  
  
Hesitantly, I opened my door and entered my office. The light, bouncy feeling left faster than Brittney Spears could divorce her husband. The sofa in my office was being occupied by a cross dressing canine. To be more specific, a wolf...dressed in women's nightclothes.  
  
Shakily, I crossed to my desk and pressed the buzzer on my intercom, "Martha, go ahead and get the Advil."  
  
The wolf took a cigar out of a small, pink sequined purse and lit up. My eyes lingered on his pink nails as he said in a deep, growling voice, "Good morning Dr. Higgenbotham. I am Mr. Wolfe."  
  
I took in his frilly, pink, nightdress (coated with lace), and his pink nightcap with a small purple pansy pinned to it. Most disturbing was the fact that he wore on his feet (paws?) a pair of four-inch, hot pink, stilettos.  
  
"Dr. Higgenbotham?" his carnation red lips asked.  
  
I snapped back to what I hoped was reality. No, wait, there was still a cross-dressing wolf in my office...damn.  
  
"Hello Mrs....Mr.Wolfe," I caught myself. I looked down at my desk to avoid staring at the gender-confused canine in front of me. "I suppose you have your file?"  
  
Mr. Wolfe withdrew a manila folder from his sequined purse and handed it to me. I opened it and stared in bewilderment at the file papers.  
  
"They're pink?"  
  
"Oh, and scented. I think it gives them a little something extra, don't you think?" The wolf smiled sweetly and took a long drag of his cigar.  
  
"Mr. Wolfe, do you think you could save the smoking for later? I don't particularly like the smell of smoke in my office."  
  
The delicately manicured, stiletto-wearing wolf growled at me.  
  
"Don't worry about it...I love the smell of cigars!" I corrected myself quickly and began to read the scented documents in front of me.  
  
PATIENT NAME: Wolfe, Big Bad GENDER: Male (we think) AGE: 56 in dog years REASON FOR TREATMENT: (see above picture)  
  
The file photograph depicted a preening wolf modeling Victoria's Secret lingerie in Milan.  
  
I gulped, "Well Mr. Wolfe, do you have anything to say?"  
  
"My line of faux-fur panties was very well received."  
  
I laughed weakly, "That's lovely..."  
  
"Oh yes, I think it's ever so cruel to sacrifice poor, defenseless creatures to be made into clothing for our materialistic, narcissistic society. Don't you?"  
  
Deciding that this would not be a good time to mention the mink coat I had bought off Ebay for my Great-Aunt Lulu, I simply nodded vigorously and continued flipping through the papers.  
  
"So, are you quite comfortable with yourself Mr. Wolfe?"  
  
The wolf daintily crossed his legs and said, "Oh yes, quite!"  
  
"You see nothing unusual about your...er...attire?"  
  
"Honestly, I find the skirt to provide much more coverage than my fur alone. By the way, I was considering purchasing a Venus razor to shave with? Do you think I should?" He pulled his skirt up a little and extended a canine leg for my inspection.  
  
"No, I like the natural coat look for you...it goes well with your eyes."  
  
"Why thank you!" the wolf batted his mascara coated eyelashes at me.  
  
I massaged my temples and continued, "Anyway, don't you find anything odd about your clothing?"  
  
Mr. Wolf flicked a paw at me, ashes from his cigar scattering all over my Persian rug. "Lord no! This is all about exploring my self and expressing my individuality."  
  
"You're an individual all right."  
  
"Seriously," the wolf continued in his deep, gruff voice, "Last summer I did some extensive soul searching in a spa in southern Thailand with a monk who gave a swell French manicure. I discovered that I was not the canine I wanted to be and began to explore my subconscious, searching for my true identity. I tried wearing a sheep ensemble for awhile but decided I wasn't into the whole wool thing. Then I tried lions, tigers, bears, Lilliputians, evil sorceresses...at one point I was Martha Stewart..."  
  
I raised my eyebrows and silently applauded.  
  
"That didn't last long. You know the whole insider trading thing?"  
  
"Yes..."  
  
"You don't actually think some fifty two year old lady who bakes cookies and designs tablecloths for a living did that do you?"  
  
I decided to avoid legal entanglements and remain silent.  
  
"It was on a lovely September day in Greece where I was meeting with the Pope..."  
  
"You met the Pope?" I interrupted.  
  
"Oh yes, he let my try on his hat...I must say I found it very aesthetic. Anyway, John Paul the whatever-number-he-is suggested exploring more of my feminine side and I discovered that my inner child...was crying out for a grandmother...so there you go."  
  
"So you're comfortable with yourself and this expression of your inner being?"  
  
"Extremely. In fact I would recommend this therapy to anyone. You yourself might find it relaxing to be the tooth fairy for a day or so."  
  
"No thanks, not interested."  
  
"If you say so." Mr. Wolfe extinguished the remaining stub of his cigar and rose from the sofa.  
  
"Well good day to you Dr. Higgenbotham. I do hope you have as much success in discovering your true self as I have had. You have been most entertaining, although slightly deranged about the presence of tobacco in your workspace," he said as he flounced out of my office.  
  
Deranged...me? I remembered Mr. Wolfe's attire and was slightly taken aback as to the statement that I was the deranged one.  
  
Oh well, another one down. I could only wonder who would waltz into my office next. 


	8. Advil and Angry Secretaries

DISCLAIMER: **NEWSFLASH** A Bengal tiger has been spotted conversing in Antarctica with Elvis. The King has claimed international immunity.  
  
Author's Note: I'm sorry it has taken so long to post, I've had a lot of schoolwork and stuff. I'll get on the ball, I promise...REVIEW!  
  
~~Chapter Eight~~  
  
I quickly swallowed six Advil, the sweet-coated pills racing down my gullet to arrest the pain and stress that threatened to destroy what remained of my sanity. Feeling the life-giving pain relievers settle into my stomach and their chemicals release into my bloodstream I relaxed into the hallucinogenic stupor that usually followed such exuberant amounts of Advil. As my eyes glazed over I watched my next client waltz into my office.  
  
And waltz she did. No sooner had my trans-gendered, cross-dressing, canine friend exited my office in a maelstrom of pink gauze than a lovely young girl with luminous chestnut hair caught up in a tight bun atop her head swept into the room. She was simply striking, with skin that seemed to be not like cold, delicate porcelain, but luscious, warm, peach colored skin. Her lips were like a pair of puckered cherries (and would probably taste as such as thus, I thought privately). But her eyes...two mahogany pools beckoning a man to spend an eternity within their depths. Strangely familiar eyes, that in the haze of medication I could not quite place.  
  
Almost as an afterthought I tore my eyes away from hers and noticed that she was dressed in rags. A tattered, shredded maid's garment a good ten years out of date. What was this glorious beauty doing in such attire?  
  
"H...h...hello..." I managed to choke out.  
  
"Good afternoon Dr. Higgenbotham," her voice seemed to float towards me, shaming the call of the nightingale.  
  
She had said my name! She had said MY name! I struggled for words to reply, and finding none, decided to display my newfound adoration for this young woman in the best way I knew how. I crossed the room briskly, and in one swift move, wrapped my arms around her waist and in an Astair-esque quality, dipped the maiden down into a fiery, passionate kiss.  
  
Unexpectedly, the door to my office flew open and Martha bustled inside saying, "Daniel...Daniel we have a problem. The Xerox repairman is complaining about the state of the...oh dear! I completely forgot you had a client..." her usual cheerful expression diminished as she took in the lovely girl...that I was so thoroughly ravaging with a kiss.  
  
We pulled up and apart, my dazed brain trying to make sense of the situation. For some strange reason the tune to "Kiss the Girl" from my niece's "Little Mermaid" video popped into my head. Seeing that I was quite incapable of speech my patient answered for me, "Do pardon us ma'am, Dr. Higgenbotham was just...welcoming me." She gently pushed away from my incapacitated body with the dignity and grace of a noble woman. Although there was nothing in her tone that would suggest hostility, quite the opposite in fact, Martha seemed to bristle.  
  
"Oh please," I implored, finding my voice, "call me Daniel."  
  
"Thank you Daniel." her melodic pronunciation of my name was intoxicating. Martha, however, did not seem as thrilled as I was. Her usual smile had spread into a thin line. Eyes narrowed slightly, and eyebrows assumed a menacing stance. The plump, maternal secretary I had once known had metamorphosed into an ogress, who appeared to be seriously deliberating on which of us to devour first, the exquisite creature that I was still trying to grasp, but that was withholding herself with polite etiquette, or me...the perpetrator of the crime.  
  
"Daniel, may I see you outside for a moment?" Martha urged through gritted teeth.  
  
I let go of the young lady and Martha grasped my collar pulling me out the door, as I called, "Forget me not my sweet!"  
  
The moment we were alone Martha slapped my face with a blow that would have made the Dali Llama swear.  
  
The haze cleared from my head and Disney songs quit playing in my mind. "Thanks, I needed that," I said quietly.  
  
"You took the Advil didn't you?" she accused sternly.  
  
I nodded weakly, "A cross-dressing wolf just informed me that he was the mastermind behind the Martha Stewart scandal...you'd need medication too." Although I was feeling rather stupid, for a man such as myself, who prefers peace and quiet to raging parties, I was behaving rather foolishly.  
  
"Well," she said quietly, "If it matters to you at all...yesterday when the hit-men from the BGFM were here they were quite impressed with my secretarial skills and they have offered me a job at their headquarters...I've already sent in my acceptance form."  
  
"WHAT?!" I cried out. The stupor was gone now, my usual neurotic, nervous personality was back. What on earth would I do without her? Who would take my calls? Babysit Prince Charming? "You can't leave! I need you!"  
  
She snorted, "From what I saw in your office I highly doubt it."  
  
I felt my cheeks flush. Quietly, I said, "That was the Advil. You know me Martha, would I ever do that under normal circumstances? I'm too much of a prude." I reached out and took her hand, "I need you to stay."  
  
"Why?"  
  
A thousand different answers ran through my mind. You make me laugh. You fascinate me with your quirks. You are calm and capable where I am nervous and tense. You complete me...  
  
"You're an excellent secretary."  
  
Martha withdrew her hand and said quietly, "Daniel, I think your patient is waiting for you." 


	9. In Which the Floors Are Immaculate

DISCLAIMER: The views expressed by the following fairytale characters do not directly correlate with the views of Fairy Godmother's Inc.  
  
Author's Note: Don't kill me. My computer died. And when I say "died", I mean "died"! Crashed is not the word to describe it. It is dead. We are talking the lock down of all lock downs. Hence, I have been unable to write and am simply going to attempt it on the family computer downstairs. This may slow down my posting a bit, but I'll try to keep up. Please forgive me and review.  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Martha retreated to her desk and with a heavy sigh, I returned to my office. Shutting the door I leaned against it and rested my head against the cool mahogany. Eyes closed, relaxing into the haze of the millions of thoughts circulating about in my mind.  
  
"Dr. Higgenbotham?" a lovely voice said quietly. I opened my eyes. The beautiful young woman in the raggedy dress I had previously, shall we say... smooched, was giving me a worried look from her perch on my sofa. She adjusted the magazines on the coffee table nervously with her silken hands.  
  
I roused myself from my slump and crossed the room to my desk chair. "Good afternoon miss. Who might you be?"  
  
She rose and gracefully passed me her manila envelope. "My name is Cinderella." And sure enough. The file read:  
  
NAME: Cinderella AGE: 18 REASON FOR TREATEMENT: Attempted to single handedly clean up Dick Clark's "Rockin' New Years Eve" Party. Is also rather crazy about dust mops.  
  
I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands. My God, Cinderella was OCD! I should have taken more Advil.  
  
"Dr. Higgenbotham, are you all right?" her feathery voice floated it's query.  
  
No, I have a migraine, no pain killers, a broken Xerox machine, an angry secretary who's threatening to leave me, and a group of fable writing madmen on my hands who will kill me if I don't do something about it's lunatic (and occasionally homicidal) clients!!!!  
  
Instead I said, "Fine."  
  
"Here," she said, "you look ill. Let me help." And she reached into a bag that I had not previously noticed. Next to her chair sat the carpetbag, and a bucket with a mop and broom sticking out of the top and a few rags hanging over the lid. She rummaged around in the satchel for a moment and then laughed, "Aha ha ha ha ha!" in a sing-songy voice and produced a handful of red pills and a tub of yellowish ointment. "Here it is!" She bounced up from the chair and bounded over to me.  
  
"Oh no, thank you madam, I'm quite..." I tried to say as she began prying open my mouth.  
  
"Now just swallow these..." she shoved a dozen or so red pills into my mouth.  
  
Choking on the pills I spluttered, "Now see here..." spraying caplets everywhere.  
  
With a good natured smile she shoved them back into my mouth and poured in a glass of water, and held my mouth shut until I swallowed the lot. "Now, take off your shirt."  
  
"Madam!" I pulled away and tried to escape the extremely forceful young lady who was attempting to wrench my coat jacket off my back.  
  
Still with that cheerful grin she followed me as I climbed over the desk and having removed my blazer, began to tug at my tie. "Come now, this won't hurt a bit!" she sang.  
  
The tie flew off and I threw my arms around myself and fell to the floor in a fetal position in attempt to ward off her advances. "MARTHA!!! MARTHA!!!!" I screamed.  
  
Cinderella pounced on my back, wrenched off the shirt and began to splatter blobs of ointment onto my bare torso. I screamed at the cold of the gel and rolled over so that she straddled my chest.  
  
Martha chose that moment to walk in.  
  
"Daniel, what's the...oh." She stood there, smoke boiling out of her ears, as Cinderella continued massaging the yellow ointment into my bare chest and said, "Oh do pardon us Ms. Washington, I was just helping Dr. Higgenbotham cure his head cold."  
  
Awkward.  
  
I firmly slid Cinderella off my body and onto the floor and regained my feet. "This isn't what it looks like."  
  
With a voice like poisoned honey Martha replied, "Of course, can I bring you anything Doctor?" The sickly sweet words poured out of her mouth with vindictiveness.  
  
Glancing at the clock I realized that I now had only twenty-five minutes left with my patient. I would have to deal with Martha later. "No thank you," I said and reached for the shirt and tie Cinderella was folding with meticulous care.  
  
The glorious maiden at my side now seemed nervous at Martha's obvious malevolence and reached for a dust rag. Scurrying around me she picked up a few knick-knacks and began to polish them. Martha left the room in a huff, slamming the door behind her.  
  
I sighed, staring after the closed mahogany door and slumped down into my desk chair. Cinderella was still rubbing the wooden figures neurotically. I glanced up at her and said quickly, "Don't worry about those that's what the cleaning service is for."  
  
She flashed me a look of pain, "In that case you definitely need to consider lowering their pay. This dust is appalling!"  
  
I picked up the manila envelope again and began flipping through it. "So Cinderella..."  
  
"Cindy."  
  
"Ok, Cindy. I notice here that you have been having marital problems, and judging by the rather defined tan line around your wedding ring finger it seems that you and your beau have broken it off huh?"  
  
She replaced the doll and slumped into the armchair. "I just started thinking...what use would I be? I mean at home with my stepsisters and stepmother there's lots I can do to help and keep things positive. But the palace...well they have hundreds of servants and everything. What good would I do?"  
  
"But your family, they aren't exactly kind to you are they?"  
  
The sitting still didn't seem to agree with her so she rose and picking up her Swiffer Duster, began to go over the polished wood floor. "Well, no...but its sort of the reverse of Weir Mitchel's theory isn't it?"  
  
Huh? Wear who? "I'm sorry?"  
  
"Weir Mitchel believed that idleness and rest were the panacea for women. He was quite popular among the men in the early 20th century. Anyway, I would rather be with my stepfamily and busy, than at a palace and bored out of my mind." She shrugged into the Swiffer and set it aside in favor of a DustBuster vacuum, with which she began to use on my furniture in a rather obsessive way.  
  
The girl had a point. I mean after all, most fairytale queens did nothing except have babies and die if you think about it. Snow White's mother: had a baby and died. Sleeping Beauty's mother: had a baby and died. The Little Mermaid's mother: had a baby and ...you guessed it...died.  
  
"Ok, I see your point. But hell woman, this is a fabulous opportunity! Start a revolution! Take action in your husband's foreign policies! Visit neighboring kingdoms, speak with dignitaries, write an amendment calling for the protection of talking animals! You could do even more good for people who actually deserve it!"  
  
Cindy tensely sprayed Windex on my windows and said in a very small voice, "But the law says women shouldn't..."  
  
"SCREW THE LAW!" I screamed and Cindy's rag made a screeching sound on the glass as she jumped. "CINDERELLA, YOU'VE GOT TO GET BUSY AND STEP UP TO THE PLATE! IF YOU LOVE THAT PRINCE AND YOU WANT TO DO SOME GOOD THEN DO IT!!!"  
  
For a moment there was silence in the room. Cindy slowly began putting up her cleaning supplies and said, "You're right. I've just been scared so long. I'll do it. I'll take control and work to clean up this kingdom!"  
  
More gently I said, "And just think...a palace...hundreds of rooms...you can clean all day if you so desire!"  
  
Her eyes sparkled and she shook my hand, "Thank you so much Dr. Higgenbotham. You have been most kind." She flashed one of her drop dead gorgeous smiles at me and waltzed towards the door, "I'm sorry about earlier...this seems to happen a lot around men. I'll put in a good word for you with your secretary." And she left.  
  
I had just fallen into my chair when the door opened again and Martha stepped into the room, "My God!" she cried, "The floors are immaculate!" 


	10. Reaching New Heights

DISCLAIMER: Cows.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to those who did review. To those of you who did NOT...shame on you!!!!!!!!! Now go read this story I have written for you and REVIEW!!!! (btw: OCD stands for Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.)  
  
Chapter Ten  
  
Martha stood there for a few minutes, frozen in shock, her mouth feebly opening and shutting in stunned silence as she contemplated the newly waxed hardwood floorings. Her eyes traveled from floor to furniture, to windows, to desk...to me, and then down to her hands (which were fidgeting with a piece of copy paper), where they remained as she shook her head and sighed.  
  
Today her apparel ensemble was coordinated along a sort of bovine theme. The pantsuit was fashioned of cowhide print cloth and two bronze cowbells hung from her ear lobes. Her eyeglasses hung from her neck by a chain of alternating black and white beads and...get this...her heels sported twin heifer heads.  
  
I waited patiently for her to come to her senses. I must admit that I fully understood her shock. Although I am a naturally clean and tidy person...I am a man. And that fact alone prevents me from completely managing to assess the hygienical needs of my home and office on a continuous basis.  
  
At last Ms. Washington turned towards me and spoke, "Mr. Higgenbotham, I have come to give you my letter of resignation. And to inform you that I will be transferring my belongings to the Brother's Grim Fairytale Mafia Headquarters immediately."  
  
"Oh Martha, please...I...I don't know what I'll do without you!"  
  
Her eyes lingered on the Persian rug where my last client had been rubbing ointments on to my bare chest...it had been an awkward moment.  
  
"You seemed to be doing just fine on your own," Martha said in a quiet, dangerous tone, animosity dripping from her every word.  
  
"Look, what happened...it's just a misunderstanding...I appreciate you more than you will ever know...I..."  
  
She cut me off in a hurried tone, "I'd best be on my way. Your next client is waiting for you."  
  
And with that, Martha Washington turned and walked out of my office.  
  
I sank into my desk chair and buried my face into my hands. Why in Heaven's name couldn't I just forget her? Oh well. I had hit rock bottom and there was no place to go but up.  
  
So I thought. The moment my next clients walked into the office I realized that no matter how bad a situation is...it can always get worse.  
  
There were seven of them. Seven! As if my life couldn't get any worse! Seven dwarfs sporting knee-length beards and soiled clothing, carrying pickaxes and humming a strange tune.  
  
"H-h-hello..."  
  
The tallest of the midgets returned my rather stunted salutation, "Greetings." His voice was deep and sounded as thought he desperately needed to clear his throat.  
  
Trying to regain my composure I stood and walked over to the Lilliputians to ask for their file. However, upon reaching them I discovered that I towered over them twice their size and that it was a rather awkward position to be in. Of course I could kneel down, but wouldn't that be insulting them?  
  
I coughed a little and said, "May I see your file please?"  
  
The same tall dwarf (who I had by now established as the leader of the pack) handed me his manila envelope and they scattered about the room, dispersing themselves about various pieces of furniture.  
  
I opened the file and read through the contents as I returned to my desk, on which was perched the tiniest of the pygmies. He was clean-shaven, as though he had never had facial hair in his life and had ears that seemed too large for his head and wore the brightest grin as his fiddled with my pens and other gadgets. I scooted him off the growing pile of character files and added this one to the top.  
  
"So...I am Dr. Higgenbotham, psychologist. May I ask your names?"  
  
The leader rose and stated, "I am Adolf, and these are my brothers: Benno..."  
  
Benno stood and bowed graciously, "Delighted to make your acquaintance good sir."  
  
"Conrad..."  
  
"Ya gotta spittoon 'round here? I gotta wadda tobacca needs getting' rid of." Finding it difficult to respond I watched as another dwarf handed him my remaining porcelain vase (the antique made in 13th century China and valued at 30,000 dollars I might add) and he spat his wad of tobacco and saliva into the urn.  
  
The dwarf set the vase at the tobacco-chewing midget's feet and leaning to whisper in my ear said, "I'm Dedrick. Professional bookie. You want the point spread on the Raiders' game? I can get it...minimal charge." He adjusted the silk tie of his Armani suit and winked at me with a capped- tooth smile.  
  
"No thanks," I said hurriedly and pushed him back to his chair.  
  
Adolf, slightly perturbed by the interruption, continued, "This is Edmund..."  
  
Edmund was something of a character if you will forgive the pun, being the only clean-shaven dwarf besides the one currently toying with my stapler on my desk. He wore ripped and baggy black clothing that had been pinned together with safety pins and had painted his nails black and wore dark makeup all over his face. "Yo. Wha's goin' down bro?"  
  
Oh for goodness sake...  
  
"This is Franz..."  
  
"Dude...like your office is so unpolluted...it totally reflects your environmental views man... rock on...say...you don't mind if I smoke some MaryJane do ya?" His eyes were glazed over and the tie dyed T-shirt he wore bore a slogan saying, "Pacifism is the light."  
  
Adolf paused for a moment and said, "You'll have to forgive him...Franz is rather liberal and I don't think has ever realized the 60s ended forty years ago." He glanced around at he rest of his clan, "We think it might be best not to tell him."  
  
I nodded and turned to the last pygmy sitting atop my desk and gently tugged the stapler away from him as he was trying to staple my earlobe. "And who might you be?"  
  
The kid just smiled this huge dopey looking grin and started punching buttons on my scanner.  
  
"Ah, that's Gunter...he doesn't speak."  
  
"Is there something wrong with him?"  
  
"Fear not good sir, 'tis not that a disease ails our youngest brother...'tis that he has never attempted utilize his tongue."  
  
Oooookay.....  
  
Fabulous. A head honcho, a Shakespearean, a hick, a bookie, a gangster, a hippie, and a mute idiot. Boy was I in for a fun afternoon. Right.  
  
"I must admit, you aren't what I've been expecting."  
  
Edmund snorted, "Dag yo, whacha want? Duplicates?"  
  
Franz took a long drag off his joint, "Dude...you are so obtuse...we like, totally want identities..."  
  
"Yeah! Them varmints, the Brother's Grimm is always tryin' ta make us identical!"  
  
Adolf held up a hand for silence, "We are concerned that in fables we are known simply as 'The Seven Dwarfs'. No one even knows our names!"  
  
"So this is why you are all so radically different?" I couldn't see why this was a problem that needed treatment. Infact I found this to be a rather ingenious solution to the common identity crisis.  
  
"Infact, there's only one real similarity between us!"  
  
"Oh, what's that?" I asked absently, not paying attention.  
  
"We're all gay!"  
  
Talk about a reality check! The thoughts in my mind came to a screeching halt and I sat upright. "Say that again?"  
  
"Thou must understand, we are homosexuals."  
  
"You're kidding."  
  
"Oh come on," Dedrick picked a speck of lint off his blazer, "Seven males all living together, who haven't 'gotten any' since 1972...NOT hitting on Snow White? Give me a break. Of course we're gay."  
  
Wow. Did not need that image.  
  
"Honestly, I can't understand how no one else has picked up on it before," Adolf scratched his chin.  
  
I stood and looked around. Seven homosexual dwarfs all only coming up to my belly button, sitting around talking about Snow White's sex appeal. Not a good situation.  
  
But Hell...I'm pretty liberal myself...why not?  
  
Franz's eyes were watering as he inhaled the last of his joint. "So dude...looks like you're having a little trouble...in the ladies department..." He sniffed and began rooting around in his bag for more marijuana to roll.  
  
Ok, this was not the way I wanted the conversation to turn.  
  
"Yeah, that there secretary of yours looked mighty put out!"  
  
I sighed, "She thinks I under appreciate her."  
  
"Dost thou?"  
  
"No! It's just that...well...sometimes I have a hard time expressing my feelings."  
  
The gay men exchanged knowing looks and Dedrick slid up next to me. "You know, if you need a more subtle way to say you love her I've got diamonds...lots of diamonds. And Rolexes too." He opened his blazer to display his numerous "high quality" watches. "I can give you a discount. Ten dollars, what do you say?"  
  
"I say I'd rather not."  
  
"But remember, 'faint hearts never won fair lady'!"  
  
"But she's leaving...probably already moved into her new office!" I sighed in desperation.  
  
"It's never too late!" Adolf cried.  
  
"But what can I do?" I cried.  
  
There was a sudden silence and then, from my left, came a very small voice, "I have an idea." 


	11. A Hit New Reality Show

DISCLAIMER: There is no point to this. I own it. It's mine. But the 007 stuff isn't, that belongs to Ian Flemming.  
  
Author's Note: Thank you to all who reviewed! This is the final chapter of OUAP. I hope you all have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. It's good to know I'm capable of writing humor. Albeit I didn't really like this chapter much but even if all you get out of it is a couple of half-hearted chuckles...I am pleased. (Oh and free prize to whoever can guess where the number, 211, comes from.)  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
I adjusted my tie. "Everyone ready?"  
  
Behind me thirteen heads of various shape, color, size, and sex nodded the affirmative.  
  
"All right. Let's go." I took a deep breath and, plastering my best PR grin across my face, strode confidently through the double glass doors of the Brother's Grimm Fairytale Mafia National Headquarters.  
  
I spotted the receptionist immediately and, making my way to her desk, confidently demanded, "I need directions to Martha Washington's office."  
  
The little woman peered over her bifocals and down the bridge of her nose, eyes narrowed. She reminded me somewhat of a pencil, short and thin, with ramrod posture, yellowish skin covered with liver spots and a gray bun atop her head that could have passed for an eraser. And she was perfectly silent. This wasn't going as well as I had planned.  
  
When at last she spoke, she moved her lips in an exaggerated motion as though enunciating clearly for a very small child. "Were you absent the day they taught manners in grammar school?"  
  
My face twitched, trying to maintain its assured grin, "Uh, I..."  
  
"Well, as Martha Washington has been dead nearly two hundred years..."  
  
"SHE'S _DEAD_?!" I clutched the countertop.  
  
Pencil Woman cocked an eyebrow, "Very funny."  
  
"But she was just in my office yesterday!"  
  
"The First Lady is dead and as it would be quite impossible to find her here, please take your..." she glanced behind me at my comrades, "...friends...and leave."  
  
I let out a half-relieved sigh, half laugh, "No, no...she's my secretary!"  
  
The enunciating lips opened again to reprimand me but before they could I was shoved out of the way by a very perturbed horse of a very charming prince.  
  
"Do pardon my friend's rudeness gentle lady, he did not mean any offence." Behind us, two frilly princesses, one frogman, one old hag, seven homosexual midgets and one cross-dressing wolf snickered. The receptionist turned her frown to Prince Charming and now seemed more wary than peeved.  
  
The Prince flashed his dimpled smile and continued, "The Mrs. Washington my friend refers to is not this nation's primary first lady, but rather our former secretary of the same name."  
  
"Oh," she emitted a small laugh. I had seen Charming do this routine before. Five minutes and he'd have this woman swooning at his feet. Without the armor and stallion he could have easily passed for...  
  
"Bond. James Bond." A rather handsome older man boasting a British accent and tuxedo strode up to the desk. He flashed a business card. "How are you MoneyPenny?"  
  
With two magnanimous men suddenly turning on the charm for her full blast a woman could hardly be better. She swallowed and smiled girlishly, a smile that was rather out of place on such a severe face. "Doing well. You are here for your meeting with the Brother's Grimm, Mr. Bond?"  
  
"How do you do it MoneyPenny? You astound me every time!"  
  
She was batting her eyes rapidly now, "Fifth floor, room number 518."  
  
Bond winked at her and strolled off to the elevators.  
  
She sighed after him and said dreamily to Charming, "He's an ambassador from Britian." Then stood and pointed to the elevators, "Mrs. Washington will be on the second floor. Room number 211."  
  
Prince Charming reached out, took her hand, and kissed it gallantly. "You have been so kind, thank you ever so much."  
  
"All right, all right," the Big Bad Wolf growled, "Now let's go!"  
  
The elevator doors opened with a ping! Cinderella handed the Big Bad Wolf his microphone and the Evil Witch flipped on her video camera. I shrank to the back of the lift as they filed out. Somewhere, a funky theme song began to play.  
  
Through the crowd I could see the Joneses rise in unison and demand, "What is this? Who are you?"  
  
The Evil Witched turned to zoom in to the Big Bad Wolf's face as he announced in an excellent impression of Alex Trebeck, "Hello, and welcome!" He (She? It was dressed in another pink nightgown.) threw an arm around the Left Jones, "I'm your host, B. B. Wolfe and you are on the newest reality show..."  
  
The Seven Dwarfs swarmed around the black hit men and sang, "QUEER EYE OF THE MIDGET GUYS!"  
  
The Joneses gave each other quizzical looks behind their mirrored sunglasses. B. B. Wolfe continued, "Starring the 'Superfluous Seven'! ADOLF!"  
  
Adolf threw out his chest, "In GROOMING!"  
  
"BENNO!"  
  
Benno bowed deeply, "In FASHION!"  
  
"CONRAD!"  
  
"COOKIN'!" he spit into a fake fern.  
  
The Wolf continued his spiel "DEDRICK!"  
  
"INTERIOR DESIGN!" Dedrick pulled open his blazer and whispered, "And I can sell you some nice gold plated toothbrushes as well!"  
  
"EDMUND!"  
  
In a rap-star voice, "HAIR!"  
  
"FRANZ!"  
  
"HEALTH!" he called as he took a long drag from his joint.  
  
"AAANNNDDDD....GUNTER!"  
  
Gunter simply stood there.  
  
"Well, ah...he's culture," the Wolf stage whispered.  
  
The Right Jones nervously pushed away a pair of dwarf hands that were feeling the faberic of his suit and said, "Look here, we don't have time for..."  
  
He never finished his sentence. Before he could draw a breath both men were being tugged away by the Suplerflous Seven and their production crew.  
  
I slunk down the hall as stealthly as I could, followed by a Prince on a horse and a frogman and his wife. (Amazingly the horse did the best job of being inconspicious.)  
  
When I finally reached the door I paused and said excitedly, "All right, Charming, you stay here and guard the enterance. Fred and Daisy, you create a diversion if anyone tries to enter. I'm going to go in there and win back my secretary!"  
  
Daisy tilted her head, "How are you going to do that?"  
  
"I have no idea!"  
  
The three characters looked at each other and Fred slid me a sideways glance. "Great plan Doc."  
  
I threw up my hands, took a deep breath...and entered the office.  
  
Martha was sitting at her half-organized desk, munching on a turkey club sandwich while she straitened a picture frame. Her glasses chain bore musical notes today, which coordinated well with her black-on-white dress whose musical print was actually the notes to "Flight of the Bumblebee".  
  
I cleared my throat.  
  
Whatever fantasies I had had about Martha running to my arms flew rapidly out the window. The only reaction I provoked was a "go to hell" look and an expellation of air from her nostrals which, any stronger and I think it would have been considered a snort.  
  
Being the stupid man I am I decided to take a hint from the British Ambassador of Fictional Characters and try again.  
  
I swaggered up to her desk and said in my most sultry voice, "The name is Higgenbotham. Daniel Higgenbotham."  
  
She rolled her eyes and turned her back on me. This really was not going well. That's the trouble with the name Higgenbotham...it's just to darn long.  
  
"Martha won't you listen to me for just one minute?"  
  
"No."  
  
Well that's about as strait forward of an answer as you can get. "Please? Look I've come all this way and gone to a great deal of trouble to get in here."  
  
"And how you did I will never know. My hitmen should have stopped you at the elevators." She slammed down a stack of files.  
  
"The Joneses are a little busy at the moment."  
  
For the first time Martha caught my eye, "What are they doing?"  
  
"They are the newest contestants on a hit reality show. _Queer Eye of the Midget Guys_."  
  
There was a long silence. Martha held up her hands, "I don't even want to know. Just leave."  
  
"Martha please..."  
  
"_Leave_."  
  
I sighed and began to walk slowly towards the door. Laying my hand on the handle I turned one last time. "Do you remember when you asked me why I wanted you to stay?"  
  
Martha nodded.  
  
"I know the answer now."  
  
Her eyes lost their anger and she gave me a questioning look.  
  
I sighed. "I need you because you bring laughter to my life. You give me joy and peace and I have never felt so wonderfully carefree as I do when I am with you. I've already lost one woman I loved Martha, I wasn't about to do it again."  
  
She stood there frozen like Galatea, pain in here eyes.  
  
I shook my head. "I should have never come. I'm sorry. Good bye Martha." Stepping through the door I met the grim expressions of my sentries. "It didn't work."  
  
"Come on fellas it's time to go," I mumbled gloomily to the 'Suplurflous Seven' and their production crew. The Joneses were sitting in leather massage chairs having their feet pedicured by Adolf while Franz laid cucumbers on their already green-cream-lathered faces.  
  
"What?" B. B. Wolfe turned to me. "Did she say, 'yes' already?"  
  
Prince Charming sighed, "She bit his head off."  
  
"Ouch! My friend you really do not know how to handle the ladies do you?" the wolf cried.  
  
Now I am not the most macho of men, but being told that you can't handle women by a cross-dressing wolf who occasionally pretends to be Martha Stewart _really_ hurts.  
  
Reaching down to shove away Edmund, who was trying to massage my back I sighed, "We need to leave," and began walking towards the elevators.  
  
"WAIT!"  
  
In unison sixteen heads snapped to see who was calling. (The Joneses did not have much success in this persuit as their eyes were currently covered by cucumber slices.)  
  
"WAIT!" Martha came running up the hall. "Don't leave!"  
  
She came to an abrupt stop, panting for breath. "I forgot to ask you for your autograph," she said breathlessly to Prince Charming.  
  
There was a rather loud sound made as sixteen people collectively expelled their bated breath.  
  
Charming awkwardly took a pad and pen from Martha and signed it.  
  
"Thanks!" she gushed. "Oh and Daniel? If the position is still avalible...I'll be in your office at eight tomorrow."  
  
I smiled, "Of course it is."  
  
Smiling, she nodded and retreated back to her office. Cinderella kissed me on the cheek and the Frog Prince slapped me on the shoulder. "Good job, Doc."  
  
"Thanks," I said contentedly. "Now, come on...let's go home."  
  
Walking towards the elevators I turned and called out, "By the way, you can wire my million dollars to a bank account in Bermuda...but ship the potted plant directly to my office. No one will mind."  
  
Leaving in our wake two now-very-femenine mafia hitmen...thirteen fairytale characters and I left the building together.  
  
I am a very relaxed man. I like joy and laughter to create oddity and merriment in my life. I much prefer an unusual lifestyle to a quiet and monotonious existence. I now own a small, private, counseling office in an office in Bermuda, where I am a psychotherapist for fairytale characters (who have taught _me_ something about life). It is around this practice that my story resolves. 


End file.
